


but he means nothing to you and you don't know why

by Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Case related horror (blink and it's gone), Fluff, Friendship, Gen, bad at tags, five times fic, some angsty moments
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-28 23:35:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3874096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark/pseuds/Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Sonny Carisi surprised the Squad and one time they surprised him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	but he means nothing to you and you don't know why

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing recognizable.
> 
> Title taken from Vertical Horizon's "Everything You Want."
> 
> Warnings: Usual bit of language (less actually).
> 
> Pairings: none—don't stress your eyes squinting.
> 
> No spoilers.

 

 

**\--**

**1\. He can dance**

 

The invitation is puke green.

 

Amanda lays it on her desk, glaring at it.

 

She hasn't spoken to Michelle since before college. And yet.

 

She doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.

 

Michelle is stubborn and forceful; she always gets her way. And she stole every single boyfriend Amanda ever had. In fact, she's marrying the first one, the one Amanda thought she would marry, back when they were seven and living across an alley.

 

It's themed. The wedding is. 1950s ball gowns and curled hair.

 

Amanda hates themes.

 

But, Michelle was there for her the year her mom OD'd.

 

So, it means a lot that she got the ugly invite. And it's a plus one. Hah, can't steal that date since she's getting married.

 

Amanda looks at the card again. It's almost a year from now. Save the date, and/or RSVP. It's kinda hard to tell, the font too fancy to read. Michelle always was a showboat.

 

Without thinking about it, she starts humming "Here Comes the Bride."

 

When she catches herself, she glances around the bullpen to see if anyone noticed.

 

Fin has today off, thank God, so she doesn't have to endure his puzzled looks.

 

Carisi is spinning in his chair, balancing a pen on his forehead. He's pretending to not hear her, she's sure.

 

Nick is ignoring both of them, typing words at a pecking pace. The only indication that he is irritated and his temper is shortening is how hard he hits the backspace key.

 

"What happens when someone asks to dance?" Amanda finds herself asking them.

 

Nick stares at her without comprehension, his face slackening. Carisi's pen drops into his lap and he grabs it, starts playing with it.

 

"Depends," he says. "What are the circumstances of being asked to dance?"

 

"She got invited to a wedding," Nick says, turning back to his report and picking at the keys again.

 

"I did not," she declares indignantly. Both guys laugh at her. "Fine, I did. Ballroom dancing. How?"

 

"Why do you assume we know?" Nick asks. "Yeah, I mean, my mom made sure I knew how to twirl a partner or two. What about you with any cotillions?"

 

"I wasn't a debutante," Amanda snaps back at him. Michelle had been, though, and Kim. But Amanda wasn't good enough _for her mother_. She draws in a breath to steady herself, to hide the tears that still come whenever she thinks of her childhood for too long.

 

"I know how to dance," Carisi says quietly, pen speeding up as he begins spinning it over his fingers. "My parents wanted us to have culture, so they picked a hobby for each of us. Theresa got music. Gina got painting. Bella got crafting. And I got dancing."

 

"Can you learn to dance in three months?"

 

Carisi peers at her with interest. "Definitely. It's not that hard once you learn the basics. It's all about keeping count. C'mon, I'll show you."

 

He drops the pen on his desk, stands up, and approaches her. He bows, hand extended to her. "May I have this dance?" His accent smoothes away, leaving a rich baritone. Hesitantly, she accepts his hand, lets him pull her to her feet.

 

"Okay, here's what you do," he says, using gentle brushes of his hands to position her how he wants. "We're going to start easy. When I step forward, you step back. Count four paces. Ready?" He nods at her, and when he moves, she moves with him, counting silently, letting his hand on her hip guide her. "Now, when I step back, you step forward. Four counts again." They move again, swaying slightly.

 

She counts faster than he does and her foot catches on his. They overbalance, knocking against her desk. She notices how he turns slightly, taking the brunt of the hit while protecting her.

 

"It's easier in a studio than in a precinct," he laughs ruefully.

 

"I imagine so," she says, a little breathless and not sure why. She backs away from him, patting her hands down her shirt even though she's not mussed. "Do you know a good studio?"

 

Carisi nods. "My aunt owns one in SoHo. I'll take you after work today if you'd like."

 

"I would." She blushes, glancing back at Nick, who is staring at Carisi with a look of either horror or amazement. Oddly, both expressions look the same on him.

 

"Hey, Amaro," Carisi says, ambling back to his desk and picking up his pen, "wanna come too?"

 

Since Nick's probably going to be her plus one, no offense Fin, Amanda thinks it's a swell idea.

 

Nick must think so too because he nods at Carisi, no hesitation. "Yeah. I'd like that."

 

"Cool." Carisi grins at them, spinning his pen over his fingers again.

 

Ballroom dancing. Who knew?

 

 

**2\. He loves classical music**

 

Fin sweetens everyone's coffee. Well, not literally. Fin doesn't do coffee runs. The only time he ever fetched something was for his partner when he was injured. And that was only because Munch usually made him feel better if he was down. It was a returning of a favor.

 

What he does this time, though, is tricks everyone into revealing their most guilty pleasure song by forcing them to watch various singing shows during slow times. It's hilarious watching everyone hum along under their breath. He keeps a little notebook with him, ticking off little boxes.

 

The only one who doesn't fall for his trick is Carisi. He just watches everyone watching the shows, says, "No thank you," and eats his lunch alone in the ready room.

 

Even Olivia finally breaks down and admits a little R&B hits the spot.

 

Nick likes jazz. And that is such a shocker Fin has trouble staying on his seat.

 

Amanda likes Rock-n-Roll. Which, Fin honestly expected.

 

Fin's a smooth cat, blues is his calling.

 

Barba likes Latin music. Specifically Cuban dances.

 

Carisi just won't crack. Not even when Fin threatens to find the most outrageous CD he can and gift it to him. "Kidz Bop," he threatens.

 

"Is that what you're doing?" is all Carisi says, an amused smirk curving his lips. Fin shakes it off, bounces back.

 

At the Office Christmas Party a month later, Fin corners each of his victims one by one and hands them the flat boxes.

 

Amanda starts singing Boston when she unwraps her gift, tearing the paper off immediately. She also does an impromptu dance, wigging and jiving to a beat only she can hear.

 

Well, she's never been shy about what she likes.

 

Nick is more reserved, a bashful smile coming out when he carefully opens his. He folds the paper into a tiny square and tucks it into his pocket before he even examines the greatest hits album. His eyes shine and his grin grows as he reads the song list on the back.

 

Olivia tries to be as careful as Nick and ends up being just as destructive as Amanda. She stares at the CD with a puzzled expression. When Nick leans over to see what she got, she hides it, her cheeks pinking as she blushes.

 

"It's mine," she says in explanation to his raised eyebrow.

 

Well, so far, so good.

 

Barba thanks him quietly for the CD, reveals that it's one of his grandmother's favorites. They both pretend he's not wiping away tears as he ducks out early.

 

Last, Fin grabs Carisi, who has as yet managed to stay away from him.

 

"Come on, don't you want your gift?"

 

Carisi stares at him with an expression that looks more hurt than anything else.

 

Fin clears his throat uneasily, hands him the box, and stands by the tree, noting that—oh, man—he was the only one who got something for Carisi.

 

He wonders at that. The new guy has really shaped up. He still clashes with Nick, but that's more because Nick is holding onto a grudge. Amanda goes back and forth. It depends on how much time she spends with either Nick or Carisi.

 

Olivia is indifferent, so maybe she doesn't see it.

 

Carisi taps his elbow, interrupting his thoughts, and nods tightly. Then he leaves.

 

A few days later, Carisi leaves his computer running while he makes a coffee run—'cause he's not above being a gofer for everyone. Nick accidently-on purpose unplugs the headphones Carisi had been using.

 

Strains of Beethoven's Für Elise float through the precinct, and Fin sits up.

 

"I gave him that," he says excitedly. Nick grins.

 

"He's not gonna live that down."

 

Amanda, though, waves frantically at Nick. "Put it back. Come on, we don't need to do this. We're not picking on him for his taste in music."

 

Reluctantly, Nick plugs the headphones back in.

 

Carisi comes back at the same time Liv lets Amanda go home. And maybe that would have made a difference.

 

Without Amanda to rein him in, Nick keeps shooting odd glances at Carisi all afternoon until irritably, Carisi snaps, "What?" and checks his clothing for spills.

 

"Didn't peg you for a classical fan," is all Nick says, but Fin hears the teasing undertone. Carisi shoots both of them an angered look.

 

"I told you, I was a dance student. That wasn't just limited to ballroom dancing." Fin chokes and sputters on the sip of cooled coffee he's trying to finish. Carisi can dance? Carisi ignores him. "My aunt teaches ballet. Most traditional ballet is performed with classical music."

 

"Oh," Nick says. "That actually makes sense."

 

"More cultured than you thought, eh?" Carisi sounds bitter, so Fin gets up, goes to his desk, and pats his shoulder.

 

"We still love you, though," he jokes.

 

Nick snorts. "Speak for yourself," he says. Fin shoots him a look to shut up, and thankfully he does.

 

"Listen, Carisi, we do like having you around. You're like the little brother of the Squad."

 

Carisi thinks about this for a moment, during which Nick keeps his mouth shut. Then, he nods. "Yeah, I get it. Thanks."

 

Fin smiles, says, "Don't mention it."

 

 

**3\. He can play three instruments**

 

When Zara gets off the plane, she immediately launches into a story about how Mommy made her bring her saxophone even though she hates the thing. And really, Daddy, does she have to practice it every day? Can't she just pretend and tell Mommy she did?

 

It's not 'til Zara's at the precinct, sitting in Carisi's chair, feet swinging back and forth that Nick meets her saxophone.

 

Carisi is sitting on his desk, the gold-colored instrument in his lap. He's examining it, polishing off smudgy fingerprints with the edge of his shirt. Zara is rattling off musical terms to him, and Carisi keeps inclining his head.

 

"Do you know how to care for it?" he asks and she pouts at him. He barely looks up before bending over the instrument again, wiping at a particularly stubborn smear.

 

"Why are you touching my daughter's saxophone?" Nick demands, just to see Carisi jump in surprise.

 

"Daddy," Zara admonishes him, wagging a finger to complete the scolding-parent look. "Dominick was only trying to help."

 

Carisi hands Zara the sax back. He shuffles from foot to foot, looking as if he'd like nothing better than to disappear, but Zara's still in his chair.

 

"Can you play saxophone?" Nick asks Carisi. Carisi blushes hotly, cheeks reddening quickly.

 

"No," he mumbles, bites his lip. "But, I can play other instruments."

 

Nick scoffs. He takes Zara by the hand and says, "We'll be back tomorrow."

 

It's not tomorrow next they see Carisi though. They run into him at a little diner on the corner from Nick's apartment. Zara squeals happily and starts chattering about music again to Carisi who politely nods. He keeps glancing at Nick as if to gauge his reaction to the way his daughter has taken to him so readily.

 

"I still don't believe you know how to play any instruments," Nick tells him while they wait for the light to change so they can cross the street.

 

"Fine, come on." Carisi turns around and leads them back up the sidewalk. Nick never knew there was a music store so close to his house. As they enter, the owner catches sight of them, hurrying over to shake Carisi's hand.

 

"I was wondering when I would see you again," he says animatedly. "We got the new Rubenstein in."

 

"Oh," Carisi says, like he's not interested, but he grins happily when the owner takes him to the stained-oak bench of a Baby Grand. Carisi sits, cracks his knuckles, sets his fingers over the keys, and starts playing.

 

Nick recognizes the strains of Für Elise. He's shocked Carisi can actually play it.

 

Zara leans onto Carisi's back, pressing her sharp little elbows in as she watches his hands move over the keys. Carisi ignores her, head bobbing as he sways side to side, the music welling up around them.

 

Nick notices other patrons stopping to listen. Carisi ignores them too.

 

When the piece is finished, and the room erupts into applause, Carisi looks startled.

 

"Ah, I see you still don't think you have a talent," the owner says, knowingly. And Carisi ducks his head, blushing.

 

"Daddy," Zara says, "I don't wanna play sax. I wanna play piano."

 

Carisi tips his head back when he laughs. "I can also play guitar and drums," he says to Zara. Her eyes light up, and Nick shakes his head.

 

"No. Let's stick with sax for a while longer. But, if Carisi—"

 

"Dominick," Zara interrupts, wagging her finger again.

 

"Dominick," Nick agrees, "wants to, he can teach you scales on the piano."

 

He remembers the piano at Carisi's aunt's studio. They can use that, he's certain.

 

"Oh, can you?" Zara doesn't wait for an answer, throwing her arms around Carisi's neck and hugging him tightly.

 

"Yeah, I can."

 

Zara shrieks and tightens her hold on Carisi. "Thank you, Dominick! Thank you, Daddy!"

 

And Nick resolves to convince Maria to let Zara change instruments as soon as he can.

 

 

**4\. He can sing opera (and his favorite to perform is O Fortuna as composed by Carl Orff)**

 

Rafael never understands how he gets himself into these situations.

 

This latest one is entirely not his fault.

 

It's not like he made the theater director come down with a severe case of food poisoning that required a volunteer director step in for her. He was just trying to make good on a promise to see the cast rehearse before the opening show. He comes to the Rosa Center every year to watch their fundraiser and donate toward their cause.

 

Of course, the same malady that befalls the director also claims the lead actor.

 

Now there is no Don José.

 

They don't even have an understudy for the role.

 

Why not? They don't have enough actors this season. Everyone is a volunteer, raising money to help inner city schools host art programs for their students.

 

The atmosphere turns sour fast. Too many other characters lobby to hold another audition for Don José, even though it's too close to opening night. No matter what Rafael says, he can't get them back into position. This is supposed to be the final dress rehearsal.

 

An all out fistfight is eminent, until Carmen stands up.

 

She says she knows someone who'll be perfect for the role, and at his wit's end, Rafael agrees.

 

And, of course, Rafael, when he has bad luck, he has it in spades.

 

Carmen, a nice lady, whose real name is Sarah but she goes by the stage name of Rowena, calls her friend who is available almost immediately.

 

This stroke of good fortune lulls Rafael into a complete sense of false security.

 

It's the only reason he doesn't expect the person who pokes his head through the doors about twenty minutes later, singing, not half bad, though, "Someone called?"

 

Oh, God. It's Dominick Carisi.

 

Rafael manages not to react when Carisi bounds into the room. How on earth he manages to not trip over his own feet is beyond Rafael. He's not even sure how Carisi manages to walk straight. He's that uncoordinated. Liv's shown him videos of Carisi running and how he stays upright doing that _is_ a miracle.

 

The men who had been at each other's throats not five minutes ago surround Carisi, slapping his back and greeting him like a long lost friend. Rafael wonders if he missed something in only watching the actual performances before now. Carisi obviously knows these people.

 

When Carisi's in costume, they begin again. It does not go well.

 

Surprisingly, it's not Carisi who's wrong. It's everyone else. They keep breaking character to speak to the detective.

 

"Are you done?" Rafael snaps at Carisi when yet another chorus member has to make an appearance to shake Carisi's hand.

 

"I hope so." Carisi grins. "I love  _Carmen_. I've never got to be the lead before, though."

 

Carisi is popular enough, but he doesn't act like a golden boy. Rafael tries to ignore that thought and the twinge it causes.

 

When Carisi sings, he's a touch on the deep side, but it works. Rehearsal goes wonderfully.

 

Opening night the next day goes smoothly too.

 

Rafael has to admit, having Carisi listening to him and following his directions makes it easier for the rest of the cast to trust him.

 

It's definitely a rousing success. Standing backstage amongst the other stagehands, someone tells him they've broken the Rosa Center's personal best record for an opening night.

 

At the end of the night, when the cast is taking bows, Carisi grabs his arm and drags him to center stage, making him bow too.

 

Some smartass in the audience calls, "Encore! Encore!"

 

Carisi gets a gleam in his eye, nodding at Rowena. She signals backstage, and suddenly music starts. The audience goes silent. The cast remaining on the stage lines up, already singing. It's 'O Fortuna' composed by Carl Orff.

 

It's an amazing performance.

 

And right at the center of it, Carisi sings best.

 

 

**5\.  He doesn't do things halfway.**

 

Olivia has a stack of email transcripts under one hand, a coffee cup in the other, and a headache from hell. Not helping her in the slightest is Carisi, lounging in the chair in front of her desk.

 

He's smirking a bit, and he's just asked if she really needs him to go through  _all_ the emails. Note, there's four thousand and seventy-eight of them and it will take a  _long_  time to read each one.

 

"Yes, Carisi, you need to do this."

 

"Why?" is the next thing out of his mouth. What is he, a two year old?

 

"Just do it," she snaps, all but throwing the folders at him. He's gone a few seconds later, her door slamming shut behind him.

 

Three days later, she has the whole stack back on her desk, little colored flags poking out the top, highlighted lines color-coordinated with them.

 

Every single useful bit of information has been discovered, along with three different affairs that have nothing to do with the case.

 

On the inside cover is a note from Barba, something about how they hadn't needed the emails after all, but thanks for sorting them.

 

She sets the folders carefully back in their box. She'll talk with Carisi later, give him Barba's praise.

 

Later doesn't happen when they catch a case of a baby-mill. Think puppy-mill except with humans. Women, some as young as thirteen forced to carry…okay, stop thinking about it. Not a good thing.

 

After everything's said and done, someone needs to go through the records of DNA, matching babies to mothers, to fathers, to families.

 

She eeny-meeny-moes it and picks Carisi on principle.

 

He frowns at her, but at least he leaves his toddler-impression at home this time.

 

Two months later, he drops the last inquiry on her desk, asks for a few days off, and leaves.

 

Barba calls her that night, says Carisi crashed at his place, don't worry, but also, don't work the detective so hard next time.

 

"What do you mean?" She has to stop and think. Did Carisi really spend _all_ of the two months on those inquiries? She remembers getting a few grateful calls from family members thanking her for tracking them down. She doesn't remember any of them mentioning Carisi.

 

"Liv, you've got to be careful how you request a task from him. If you tell him to do it all, and you fail to mention that he can take a break or ask for help, he'll do it all. You're burning him out."

 

In the background, she hears Carisi ask something, muffled voice humming softly. Barba grunts in reply. "Anyway, I'll bring him by the precinct tomorrow and you'll approve a week's vacation for him."

 

"I can't spare him for a week," she protests.

 

"Why not?" Barba asks. "Think about it. I'll bring the forms with us tomorrow. Goodnight, Liv."

 

When he hangs up, she sets the phone down, staring at it as if it's the phone's fault that she's going to be without her proofreader for a week.

 

As soon as she thinks it, she groans. Barba's right. She can't keep using Carisi like that.

 

She picks her phone back up and dials Barba. He answers on the second ring, a clipped "Barba" making her feel even more guilty.

 

"Can I speak with Carisi, please?" she asks softly.

 

Barba sighs. "I'll check."

 

She hears murmuring and then a hesitant, "Sarge?"

 

"Carisi," she says brightly. "I just wanted to apologize."

 

"For what?"

 

She flinches at his suspicious tone. "For unintentionally making you work really hard on those inquiries. You should have asked for help if you felt overwhelmed."

 

"I wasn't," he says, and she hears the lie in his voice.

 

"Yes, you were. It was my job to keep an eye on you and make sure that didn't happen. I am sorry," she says again. "For failing you."

 

"Can we do this later? It's Barba's phone and I don't wanna use up his minutes."

 

"Sure. We'll talk. And, Carisi."

 

"Yeah?"

 

"Thank you for what you did. It was a good job."

 

"Yeah, okay. Bye, Sarge."

 

The phone disconnects and Olivia puts her head on her desk. Carisi had sounded relieved, and at least Barba promised to bring him with him tomorrow. It doesn't make her feel any better.

 

She gets up and goes to the file room, digging through the box of emails until she finds Barba's note. On the back side is a smiley face—Really, Rafael?—and a "Good job, Detective."

 

So, Barba knew it was Carisi all along.

 

She wonders at their sudden closeness. It started about a couple of months or so ago.

 

Deciding that Barba has seen the potential he exhibits, she vows to better foster Carisi at work.

 

He's stuck around this long, might as well keep him. If it ain't broke.

 

 

**1\. He passes the bar exam on the first try.**

 

The email is right there. All he has to do is click on it.

 

He lets the cursor hover, waiting. All he has to do is click.

 

He jerks the mouse, drags the screen into the corner, and drops his head onto his arms.

 

He can't look.

 

He doesn't want to know.

 

All it says is "RE: NY STATE BAR EXAM RESULTS."

 

It is the singularly, most frightening email he's ever received, and that includes those messages from that whack-job who somehow managed to get his address off a forum and harassed him for almost six weeks.

 

Sonny risks a glance at the others, peeking over his arms. Amanda is absently folding papers into airplanes, her tongue poking out of her mouth. She's still got the curls from her friend's wedding, and she death-glares at everyone who compliments them.

 

On the other side of the desk, Fin takes each airplane as she finishes it, tossing them at Nick. Each time one hits home, he scratches a tally mark on a pad of paper, making a show of licking the tip of his pencil each time.

 

Nick, poor Nick, is still typing on his report. Even Fin is faster than he is now.

 

Sonny has a theory that it has something to do with an as-yet undiagnosed brain injury.

 

One of the planes goes awry and lands on Sonny's desk, nose in his mostly-empty coffee cup.

 

Fin shrugs and starts another batch of tallies.

 

"Hey," Sonny says, a brilliant idea popping into his head. He throws the airplane back at Fin, unsurprised when it nose-dives into the worn carpet, barely clearing the edge of his desk. "Amaro, Nick. I'll type your reports for you if you read an email for me."

 

Nick glances up. "No," he says, and goes back to hunting and pecking.

 

"Please?" Sonny cajoles. "It'll make your work go faster and all you have to do is summarize _one_ email for me."

 

Nick looks up. "No." He glares for good measure.

 

"Hey, Carisi," Amanda says, still folding. "If it's one email, why can't you read it?"

 

He freezes. "I could," he admits, softly. "But, I don't want to."

 

Fin jumps out of his chair. "I'll read it if you do my reports for the next three weeks."

 

Sonny considers this.

 

"No," he says, grinning instead at Nick, poor Nick, "I offered it to Nick. He can choose."

 

"Choose what? How many weeks of someone else's reports you do or who reads the email?"

 

"The email. It's not bad. Well, I _think_ it's not bad. I'm not sure if it's good or bad. That's why I don't wanna read it."

 

"You think?" Nick raises an eyebrow. "Okay, much as I hate to admit it, I'm curious. Scoot." He wheels around the desks, bumping Sonny's chair away. He stares puzzled at Sonny's desktop until, sheepishly, Sonny pulls the email window out of its corner.

 

He ducks his head, covering it with his arms while Nick clicks on the email.

 

Silence.

 

More silence.

 

Sonny risks a peek at Nick. Nick is looking down at him with a fond smile.

 

"What?" Sonny sits up straight, peers at his email. Nick's nice enough to highlight the line that reads, "Congratulations."

 

And then all hell breaks loose.

 

Barba comes running into the bullpen, making a beeline for Sonny and Nick. He's got a piece of paper clutched in one hand, an almost delighted look on his face.

 

"Detective," he says, nodding at Sonny. "I hope I'm not too late to offer my congratulations."

 

"You're not," Nick says. Wow, Nick really sounds proud.

 

"What's going on?" Fin says, leaning over Sonny's shoulder, squinting at the screen. He quickly motions Amanda to join them. "This calls for a celebration."

 

Amanda claps Sonny on the back. "I'll get Olivia."

 

"It's not a big deal," Sonny calls after her. He turns back to the others. "It's not."

 

" _Au contraire_ ," Fin says smugly.

 

"Your score," Barba says, and if anything he sounds more proud than Nick did, "was impressive, to say the least. I'm glad our study sessions were so effective."

 

"What's going on?" The Sarge joins them, her tone amused. Amanda points at the still-highlighted word on Sonny's screen. "Oh!" she exclaims, dropping at hand onto his shoulder to squeeze it. "We'll definitely have to celebrate."

 

"Why?" Sonny asks. "It's not a big deal," he repeats. "It was just a test."

 

"That you passed," Fin says.

 

"Yes, thanks to Barba. Thank you by the way."

 

" _De nada_."

 

"Do you want the cake now or later?" Amanda asks. Sonny turns to her to find she's already got a large sheet cake with writing piped over the top. He blushes at the words: "Good job, Sonny! We knew you could do it!"

 

He narrows his eyes at them. "Did you really?" he asks.

 

"Not a doubt," Barba answers him. "We knew you had the drive to do it."

 

"Cake!" Fin shouts, interrupting anything else any of the others might say.

 

They clear off Sonny and Nick's desks best they can, computers shoved to the far side, in-trays, pen holders, staplers, and hole punchers relegated to Amanda and Fin's desks. Someone pulls out paper plates and plastic forks while Sarge produces a plastic serving spatula.

 

"Seriously," Sonny says once everyone has a piece. "No one's surprised or shocked that I passed?"

 

"I'm not even surprised by how high you scored," Barba tells him.

 

"How good?" Sarge asks.

 

"An even three hundred. Top of all applicants this year. And last year."

 

Sonny blinks. He hadn't realized it'd been _that_ good.

 

"So, we’re gonna lose you," Nick says quietly, voicing what the other detectives look like they're thinking. "Now that you've passed the bar."

 

Sonny licks some frosting off his thumb while he ponders it. "I'll eventually go into practicing law, but I'll probably stick around for a while longer. That is, if you can put up with me."

 

Nick bumps his shoulder affectionately. "Only if you can put up with us."

 

"That I can do." Sonny smiles.

 

~ Fin ~

**Author's Note:**

> If there's something missing from the tags, please let me know.
> 
> Thank you and happy reading!


End file.
